PRilSOi) 

l\5^ 


■.  ^ 


■3  MkCovdiiM 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

RIVERSIDE 


FROM  THE  LIBRARV 

OF 
DR.  J.  LLOYD  EATON 


®,ngef'6  Wicftebne00 


«  T3!?icfte^ne00 

(gXarie  Corefft 


(net»  ^orft 

1903 


KtOij' 


PtS^ 


C<iFYRlGHT,    I90I,    BY 

WALTER   R.   BEERS 


HATE    God!"    said 

Angel. 
And  having  made 
this  un-angel-like  statement, 
she  folded  her  little  arms  across 
her  breast  and  regarded  her 
horrified  audience  defiantly. 

It  was  a  cold  Sunday  after- 
noon in  December,  and  the 
Reverend  Josiah  Snawley  was 
superintending  a  Bible-class  in 
a  small,  whitewashed,  damp 
and  comfortless  schoolroom  in 


^ngef  0  T3?ic^e^ne66 


one  of  the  worst  quarters  of 
the  East  End.  He  was  as- 
sisted in  his  pious  task  by  the 
virginal  Miss  Powser,  a  lady  of 
uncertain  age,lanky  and  sallow- 
faced,  with  sandy  locks  much 
frizzled,  and  a  simpering  smile. 
The  children  ranged  in  a  for- 
lorn row  before  these  two  chari- 
table persons  were  the  misera- 
ble offspring  of  fathers  and 
mothers  whose  chief  business 
it  was  in  life  to  starve  uncom- 
plainingly. And  Angel — such 
was  the  odd  name  given  her  by 
her  godfather  and  godmothers 
in  her  baptism — was  one  of 
the  thinnest  and  most  ragged 


^ngef'6  TTtcfte^nccs 


among  all  the  small  recipients 
of  the  Reverend  Josiah's  in- 
structions, which  had  that  day 
consisted  of  well-worn,  mild 
platitudes  respecting  the  love 
of  God  towards  His  wretched, 
selfish,  and  for  ever  undeserv- 
ing creation.  She  had  usually 
figured  as  rather  a  dull,  quiet 
child,  more  noticeable  perhaps, 
than  others  of  her  condition, 
by  reason  of  her  very  big  dark 
eyes,  small  sensitive  mouth, 
and  untidy  mass  of  chestnut- 
golden  hair ;  but  she  had  never 
come  prominently  to  the  front, 
either  for  cleverness  or  down- 
right   naughtiness,    till    now, 


(^ngef'6  ^k^tX)nt&B 


when  she  boldly  uttered  the 
amazing,  blood-curdling  decla- 
ration previously  recorded. 

''Was  that  Angel  Middleton 
who  spoke?"  inquired  the 
Reverend  Josiah,  with  bland 
austerity.  ''Say  it  again,  An- 
gel!  but  no,  no!"  Here  he 
shook  his  head  solemnly. 
"You  will  not  dare  to  say  it 
again  !" 

"Yes  I  will  !"  retorted  An- 
gel, stubbornly.  "  1  hate  God  ! 
There!" 

A  terrible  pause  ensued.  The 
other  children  stared  at  their 
refractory  companion  in  stupe- 
fied amazement ;  they  did  not 


(^ngef  6  TJ7ic6e^ne66 


quite  understand  who  "  God  " 
was,being themselves  but  poor, 
weak,  physically  incapable  lit- 
tle creatures,  who  were  nearly 
always  too  hungry  to  think 
much  about  Infinite  and  Un- 
reachable splendors ;  but  they 
had  a  dim  idea  that  whoever 
the  Great  Being  whom  every- 
one called  ''God"  might  be,  it 
was  very  wrong  to  hate  Him  ! 
Dreadfully  wrong  !  Frightfully 
wicked,  and  alarming  from  all 
points  of  view.  After  staring 
at  Angel  till  they  could  stare 
no  more,  some  of  them  put 
their  fingers  to  their  mouths 
and    stared    at   Miss  Powser. 


(^ncjef'6  Wcftcbnecg 


What  did  she  think  of  it  ?  Oh, 
she  was  limp  with  horror  !— 
her  face  had  grown  paler,  and 
her  eyes  more  watery  than 
ever.  She  had  clasped  her 
hands,  and  was  looking  plain- 
tively at  the  Reverend  Josiah, 
as  indeed  it  was  her  frequent 
custom  to  do.  He  meanwhile 
laid  down  the  Testament  he 
held,  and  surveyed  the  whole 
class  with  a  glance  of  righteous 
indignation. 

"I  am  shocked  !"  he  said, 
slowly,  "  shocked,  and  pained, 
and  grieved !  Here  is  a  child 
— one  who  has  been  taught 
Bible-lessons  Sunday  after  Sun- 


(^ngef  6  TJ?tcfiebne66 


day — who  tells  me  she  hates 
God !  What  blasphemy ! 
What  temper !  Stand  for- 
ward, Angel  Middleton  !  Come 
out  of  the  class  !" 

Whereupon  Angel  came  out 
as  commanded,  and  fully  de- 
clared herself.  Like  a  small 
alien  on  strange  soil,  she  stood 
in  advance  of  the  other  chil- 
dren, her  worn,  bursting  shoes 
showing  the  dirty-stockinged 
feet  within,  her  patched  skirt 
clinging  scantily  about  her 
meagre  little  figure,  her  arms 
still  folded  across  her  chest, 
and  her  lips  set  in  a  thin,  obsti- 
nate line.     Something  in  her 


(j^rxQd'B  T2?icfte^ne66 


look  and  attitude  evidently  irri- 
tated the  Reverend  Mr.  Snaw- 
ley,  for  he  said,  sharply : — 

"  Unfold  those  arms  of  yours 
directly!" 

She  obeyed  ;  but  though  the 
offending  limbs  dropped  pas- 
sively at  her  sides,  the  little 
grimy  hands  remained  firmly 
clenched. 

"  Now  ! "  and  the  clergyman 
drew  a  deep  breath,  and  taking 
up  his  Testament  gave  a  smart 
rap  with  it  on  the  desk  in  front 
of  him.  ''Explain  yourself! 
IVbat  do  you  mean  by  such 
wicked  conduct  ?  IVhy  do 
you  hate  God?" 


(^ngef  0  T27icfte^ne66 


Angel  looked  steadily  on  the 
floor,  and  her  lips  quivered. 

"  Because  IdoT'  she  replied, 
resolutely. 

''That's  no  answer !  "  And 
the  reverend  gentleman  turned 
to  his  lady-assistant  in  despair : 
''Really,  Miss  Powser,  you 
should  not  have  admitted  such 
a  child  as  this  into  the  Sunday 
class.  She  seems  to  me  quite 
incorrigible ;  a  mere  insolent 
heathen!" 

Miss  Powser  appeared  quite 
crushed  by  the  majesty  of  this 
reproach,  and  feebly  murmured 
something  about  a  "mistaken 
idea  of  character,"  adding  as  a 


^ngef  6  ^k^cHncBe 


bright  suggestion  that  the  child 
had  better  be  dismissed. 

' '  Dismissed  ?  Of  course,  of 
course  !  "  snorted  the  Reverend 
Josiah  angrily.  "She  must 
never  come  here  again.  Such 
a  bad  example  for  the  other 
children  !  Do  you  understand 
what  1  say,  Angel  Middleton  ? 
You  must  never  come  here 
again  !  " 

''All  right!"  said  Angel, 
calmly  ;"l  don't  care." 

"Oh,  Angel!  Angel!" 
moaned  Miss  Powser,  faintly. 
"  I  am  so  sorry  to  see  this.  I  had 
hoped  for  much  better  things 
from  you.    Your  father " 


^ngef  0  ^ic^c^nczB 


''That's  it,"  interrupted  the 
girl  suddenly,  her  breast  heav- 
ing. "That's  why  1  hate  God. 
You  teaches  us  that  God  does 
everything;  well,  then,  God  is 
killing  father.  Fathernever  did 
any  harm  to  anyone  ;  and  yet 
he's  dying.  1  know  he  is!  He 
couldn't  get  work  when  he  was 
well, and  nowthere  isn't  enough 
to  eat,  and  there's  no  fire,  and 
we're  as  miserable  as  ever  we 
can  be,  and  all  the  time  you  say 
God  is  good  and  loves  us.  1 
don't  believe  it !  If  God  won't 
care  for  father,  then  1  won't 
care  for  God." 

The  words  rushed  impetu- 


^ngef'0  TTicSe^neee 


ously  from  her  lips  with  a  sort 
of  rough  eloquence  that  almost 
carried  conviction  ;  her  way  of 
reasoning  seemed  for  the  mo- 
ment surprising  and  unanswer- 
able. But  the  Reverend  Mr. 
Snawley  was  equal  to  the  emer- 
gency. 

''You  are  a  very  wicked, 
ignorant  child,"  he  declared 
sternly.  "If  your  father  can't 
get  work,  it  is  most  probably 
his  own  fault.  If  he  is  ill  and 
incapable,  there  is  always  the 
workhouse.  And  if  God  doesn't 
take  care  of  him  as  you  say,  it 
must  be  because  he's  a  bad 
man." 


(^ngef  6  ^ic^ttntBB 


Angel's  big  eyes  flashed  fire. 

* '  Yer  lie  ! "  she  said  steadily. 
''He's  worth  a  dozen  such  as 
you,  anyway." 

And  with  this  she  turned  on 
her  heel  and  left  the  school- 
room, her  proud  step  and  man- 
ner indicating  that  she  meta- 
phorically shook  the  dust  of 
it  forever  from  her  feet.  Her 
departure  was  watched  in  ab- 
solute silence  by  her  startled 
companions,  the  insulted  and 
indignant  clergyman,  and  the 
pathetic  Miss  Powser;  but  after 
she  had  been  gone  a  moment, 
Mr.  Snawley,  turning  to  the 
rest  of  the  class,  said  solemnly. 


(^ngef  6  <Wic^e^ne66 


"Children,  you  have  seen  to- 
day a  terrible  exhibition  of  the 
power  of  Satan.  "No  one  that 
is  not  possessed  of  a  devil  would 
dare  to  express  any  hatred  of 
God  !  Mow  remember,  never 
let  me  see  any  of  you  playing 
with  Angel  Middleton ;  keep 
away  from  her  altogether,  for 
she's  a  bad  girl— thoroughly 
bad — and  will  only  lead  you 
into  mischief.    Do  you  hear?" 

A  murmur,  which  might  have 
meant  either  assent  or  dissent, 
ran  through  the  class,  and  the 
Reverend  Josiah,  smoothing  his 
vexed  brow,  took  up  his  Testa- 
ment and  was  about  to  resume 


(^ngef  6  ^k^t^ntBB 


his  instructions,  when  a  little 
shrill,  piping  voice  cried  out, 

"Please,  sir,  I  want  to  leave 
the  class,  sir! " 

''  You^N  ant  to  leave  the  class, 
Johnnie  Coleman  ! "  echoed  the 
clergyman — ''what  for  ?  " 

"Please,  sir,  'cos  Angel's  gone, 
sir!"  and  Johnnie  stumped  his 
way  to  the  front  and  showed 
himself^a  small,  bright,  elfish- 
looking  boy  of  about  twelve. 
"Yersee,  sir,  I  can't  anyways 
promise  not  to  speak  to  Angel, 
sir;  she's  my  galT' 

A  gurgling  laugh  of  evident 
delight  rippled  along  the  class 
at  Johnnie's  bold  avowal,  but  a 


(^ngef'6  ^ic^et)ntB6 


stern  look  from  Mr.  Snawley 
rapidly  checked  this  ebullition 
of  feeling. 

"Your  galf'  and  the  good 
clergyman  repeated  the  words 
in  a  tone  of  shocked  offence ; 
"John  Coleman,  you  surprise 
me!" 

John  Coleman,  ragged,  blue- 
eyed  and  dirty,  seemed  to  care 
but  little  as  to  whether  he  sur- 
prised the  Reverend  Josiah  or 
not,  for  he  resumed  the  thread 
of  his  shameless  argument  with 
the  most  unblushing  audacity. 

"  'Iss,  sir.  She's  my  gal,  an' 
I'm  'er  bloke.  Lor'  bless  yer, 
sir !  we've  bin  so  fur  years  an' 


(g.ngef'6  T2?ic6e^nc06 


years — iver  since  we  wos  bab- 
bies, sir.  Yersee,  sir,  'twouldn't 
do  fur  me  to  go  agin  Angel 
now — 'twouldn't  be  gentle- 
man-like, sir !" 

Evidently  John  Coleman 
knew  his  code  of  chivalry  by 
heart,  though  he  was  only  a 
costermonger's  apprentice,  and 
was  not  to  be  moved  by  fear 
from  any  of  the  rules  thereof, 
for,  gathering  courage  instead 
of  alarm  from  the  amazed  and 
utter  speechlessness  of  wrath 
with  which  Mr.  Snawley  re- 
garded him,  he  proceeded  to 
defend  the  cause  of  his  absent 
ladye-love  after  the  fashion  of 


(^ngef'6  ^ic^et)ntB6 


all  true  knights  worthy  of  their 
name. 

''  I  spec's  Angel's  'ungry,  sir. 
That's  wot  riles  'er  wrong- 
like. Don't  yer  know,  sir, 
wot  it  is  to  'ave  a  gnawin'  in 
yer  inside,  sir  ?  Oh,  it's  orful 
bad,  sir !  really  'tis,  sir— makes 
yer  'ate  everybody  wot's  got 
their  stummicks  full.  An'  w'en 
Angel  gets  a  bit  'ere  an'  there, 
she  gives  it  all  to  'er  father,  sir, 
and  niver  a  mossul  for  'erself ; 
an'  now  'e's  a  going  to  'is  long 
'ome,  so  they  sez,  an'  it's  'ard 
on  Angel  anyways,  and " 

''That  will  do!"  burst  out 
Mr.  Snawley,  loudly,  and  sud- 


(^ngef  6  ^k^c^ncB6 


denly  interrupting  the  flow  of 
Master  Johnnie's  eloquence, 
and  glaring  at  him  in  majestic 
disdain;  "you  may  go." 

'"Iss,  sir.  Thank-ye,  sir. 
Much  obleeged,  sir."  And, 
with  many  a  shuffle  and  grin, 
Johnnie  departed  cheerfully, 
apparently  quite  unconscious  of 
having  committed  any  breach 
of  good  manners  in  the  open 
declaration  of  his  sentiments 
towards  his  ''gal,  "and  entirely 
unaware  of  the  fact  that,  apart 
from  the  disgust  his  ''vulgar- 
ity" had  excited  in  the  refined 
mind  of  the  Reverend  Josiah, 
he  had  actually  caused  the  pale 


(g^ngef  0  T2?icfiebne66 


suggestion  of  a  blush  to  appear 
on  the  yellow  maiden-cheek  of 
Miss  Powser !  Immoral  John 
Coleman  !  It  is  to  be  feared  he 
was  totally  "  unregenerate  " — 
for  once  out  of  the  schoolroom 
he  never  gave  it  or  his  pious 
teachers  another  thought,  but, 
whooping  and  whistling  care- 
lessly, started  off  at  a  run  in- 
tending to  join  Angel  and  com- 
fort her  as  best  he  might,  for 
her  private  and  personal  griefs 
as  well  as  for  her  expulsion  from 
the  Bible-class.  For  once,  how- 
ever, he  failed  to  find  her  in  any 
of  those  particular  haunts  they 
two  were  wont  to  patronize. 


^ngef  e  TTic^e^negs 


''S'pose  she's  gone  'ome  !  " 
he  muttered  discontentedly. 
"An'  she  won't  thank  me  for 
botherin' round  w'en  'er  father's 
so  bad.  Never  mind  !  I'll  wait 
near  the  alley  in  case  she  comes 
out  an'  wants  me  for  enny- 
think." 

And  with  this  faithful  pur- 
pose in  view,  he  betook  him- 
self to  the  corner  of  a  dirty  back 
slum,  full  of  low  tenement 
houses,  old  and  dilapidated,  in 
one  of  which  his  ''gal"  had 
her  dwelling ;  and,  perching 
himself  on  an  inverted  barrel 
that  stood  near,  he  began  to  con 
over   a   pictorial    alphabet,   a 


(^ngef  0  TJ?ic^bne66 


present  from  Miss  Powser, 
which,  though  he  knew  it  by 
heart,  always  entertained  him 
mightily  by  reason  of  the 
strange  colored  monstrosities 
that  adorned  every  separate 
letter. 

Meanwhile,  as  he  imagined. 
Angel  had  gone  home, — 
"home"  being  a  sort  of  close 
cupboard,  dignified  in  East 
End  parlance  by  the  name  of 
''room,"  where  on  a  common 
truckle-bed,  scantily  covered, 
lay  the  figure  of  a  sleeping 
man.  He  was  not  old — not 
more  than  forty  at  most — but 

Death  had  marked  his   wan, 

26 


(^ngef  0  T37icfte^ne00 


pinched  features  with  the  great 
Sign  Ineffaceable,  and  the 
struggle  of  passing  from  hence 
seemed  to  have  already  begun; 
for  as  he  slept  his  chest  heaved 
laboringly  up  and  down  with 
the  rapid  breath  that  each 
moment  was  drawn  in  shorter 
gasps  of  pain  and  difficulty. 
Angel  sat  close  by  him,  and 
her  big  soft  eyes  were  fixed 
with  passionate  eagerness  on 
his  face  —  her  whole  little, 
loving,  ardent  soul  was  mir- 
rored in  that  watchful,  yearn- 
ing gaze. 

"How   can   1?"    she   mur- 
mured to  herself,  "how  can  1 


(^ngef'6  ^icfte^ncsB 


love  God,  when  He  is  so  cruel 
to  father?" 

Just  then  the  sick  man 
stirred,  and  opening  his  eyes, 
large,  dark,  and  gentle,  like 
those  of  his  little  daughter,  he 
smiled  faintly. 

"Is  that  you.  Angel?"  he 
asked  whisperingly. 

"  Yes,  father !  "  And  taking 
his  thin  hand  in  her  own,  she 
kissed  it.  His  glance  rested  on 
her  lovingly. 

''Ain't  you  been  to  class, 
dearie?" 

''Yes,  father!   But "  She 

paused — then  seeing  he  looked 
anxious     and    inquiring,    she 


^ngef  6  lOJic^e^neeg 


added—''  But  they  don't  want 
me  there  no  more." 

"Don't  want  yer  there  no 
more!"  her  father  echoed  in 
feeble  wonder,  ''Why,  Angel 


"Don't  ye  worry,  father!" 
she  burst  forth  eagerly,  "it's 
all  my  fault ;  'tain't  theirs  !  I 
said  I  hated  God,  and  Mr. 
Snawley  said  I  was  wicked, 
an'  I  s'pose  I  am,  but  1  can't 
help  it,  and  there's  all  about 
it !  I'm  sick  of  their  preachin' 
an'  nonsense,  an'  it  don't  make 
you  no  better,  nor  me,  an' 
we're  all  wretched,  an'  if 
it's    all    God's    doing   then    I 


(^ngef'0  T2?icfte^ne06 


do  hate  God,  an'  that's  the 
truth  !  " 

A  flickering  gleam  of  energy 
came  across  the  suffering  man's 
face,  and  his  large  eyes  shone 
with  preternatural  light. 

''Don't  ye,  Angel!  Don't 
ye  hate  God,  my  little  gel !  ye 
mustn't — no,  no  !  God's  good  ; 
always  good,  my  dear !  It's 
all  right  wi'  Him,  Angel ;  it's 
the  world  that  forgets  Him 
that's  wrong.  God  does  every- 
thing kind,  dearie.  He  gave 
me  your  mother,  and  He  only 
took  her  away  when  she  was 
tired  and  wanted  to  go.  All 
for  the  best,    Angel !    All  for 


(^ngef'e  nQ?tcfte^ne00 


the  best,  little  lass !  Love 
God,  my  child,  love  Him  with 
all  your  heart,  an'  all  your  soul, 
an'  all  your  mind." 

His  voice  died  in  indistinct 
murmuring,  but  he  still  kept 
his  gaze  fixed  wistfully  on  his 
daughter's  half-shamed,  half- 
sullen  little  face.  She,  con- 
tinuing to  fondle  his  hand, 
suddenly  asked  : — "  Why  was 
1  called  Angel,  father?  " 

He  smiled,  a  very  sweet  and 
youthful  smile. 

''Just  a  fancy  o'  mine  an' 
your  mother's,  my  dear,  that's 
all !  We  was  young  an'  happy- 
like then,  an'  work  was  easier 


(^ngef'0  TD?icfte^nc60 


to  get ;  an'  such  a  dear  sweet 
baby  lass  ye  were  when  ye 
were  born,  with  gold  curls  all 
over  your  head,  and  bonnie 
bright  eyes,  that  we  said  ye 
were  like  a  little  angel.  An'  so 
we  named  ye  Angel  for  the 
sake  of  the  pleasantness  of  it 
an'  the  sound  of  it,  an'  ye  must 
he  an  angel,  dearie.  Angel  by 
name  and  angel  by  nature. 
Yes,  yes  !  it's  all  right !  God 
gave  ye  to  me,  an'  He  knows 
all — all  the  trouble  an'  worry 

an'  fret " 

He  broke  off  suddenly,  and 
sat  up  straight  in  his  bed, 
while    Angel,    terrified    by    a 


^ngef'6  nOJic^ebnees 


strange  expression  in  his  face 
that  she  had  never  seen  there 
before,  cried  out  sharply— 
''Father!  Father!  what  is 
it?" 

He  did  not  answer  her ;  his 
eyes  were  full  of  radiance,  and 
seemed  to  be  looking  at  some- 
thing his  frightened  child  could 
not  see. 

''Angel!"  he  said,  pres- 
ently, in  a  faint,  hoarse  whis- 
per, "look!  There's  your 
mother !  I  knew  she'd  come  ! 
Don't  ye  hate  God,  my  little 
gel !  He's  sent  her  for  me. 
God's  as  good  as  good  can  be  ; 
it's  the  world  that's  wrong 


(^ngef'6  T2?tcSe^ne56 


the  world "     He  paused; 

his  breathing  almost  stopped, 
and  he  still  stared  steadily  be- 
fore him. 

"Father!  Father!"  sobbed 
Angel,  sinking  on  her  knees  in 
a  passion  of  grief  and  fear. 
''Oh,  father!" 

His  hand  wandered  feebly  to 
her  bent  head,  and  lay  coldly 
on  her  warm  soft  hair. 

"Don't  ye  — hate  — God  — 
Angel,"  he  gasped  brokenly. 
"Love  Him! — an' — an'  He'll 
take  care  of  ye!"  Then,  all 
at  once,  with  a  rich  manly  ring 
in  his  voice,  such  as  his  poor 
forlorn   daughter   had  seldom 


(^ngef'e  T2?tc6e^ne00 


heard,    he    exclaimed:     ''All 
right,  my  lass,  I'm  coming  !  " 

Starting  up  at  the  sound  and 
chilled  to  the  heart  with  dread, 
Angel  gave  one  wild  look  at 
him  ;  and  lo  !  while  she  yet 
gazed,  he  fell  back  heavily ;  a 
solemn  shadow  crossed  his 
face — a  shadow  which,  passing 
as  swiftly  as  it  had  descended, 
left  the  features  smooth  and 
young  ;  every  line  of  care  and 
perplexity  vanished  as  if  by 
magic ;  a  smile  settled  on  the 
lips,  and  all  was  over.  With 
a  shriek  of  agony  the  desolate 
child  flung  herself  across  the 
bed  by  her  father's  stiffening 


(^ngef  6  T2?icfte^ne6B 


corpse,  unable  to  realize  his 
death,  and  out  of  the  very 
acuteness  of  her  despair  sank 
for  the  time  being  into  merciful 
insensibility. 

Late  on  that  same  evening 
Johnnie  Coleman,  sleepy  and 
disappointed,  prepared  to  leave 
the  alley  where  he  had  kept 
faithful  vigil  all  the  afternoon, 
to  return  to  the  abode  of  his 
master  the  costermonger,  there 
to  lay  himself  down  upon  a 
dirty  piece  of  matting  on  the 
floor,  a  retreat  which  he,  being 
an  orphan,  accepted  as  bed  and 
lodgment.  Suddenly  his  eyes 
were  attracted  by  a  bright  glare 


^ngef  6  njJicfte^nese 


in  the  sky,  and  he  had  barely 
had  time  to  receive  the  im- 
pression of  this  when  the  cry 
of  'Tire!  Fire!"  resounded 
through  the  street,  and  set  him 
running  off  at  racing  speed  for 
the  exciting  scene  of  the  dis- 
aster. It  was  some  distance 
away,  and  as  he  ran  he  was 
quite  unaware  that  another 
fleet-footed  figure  pursued  him 
— no  other  than  his  ''gal," 
Angel  Middleton.  She  had 
crept  out  of  her  wretched 
dwelling,  poor  child,  sick  with 
hunger  and  stupefied  with 
grief,  and  perceiving  her  ragged 
boy-friend  waiting  for  her  at 


(^ngef  6  ^k^e^ncBB 


the  corner,  had  come  towards 
him  slowly  and  languidly,  and 
had  been  just  about  to  call  him 
by  name,  when  away  he 
rushed  at  his  swiftest  pace, 
not  seeing  her ;  whereupon  she, 
in  the  mere  nervous  impulse  of 
the  moment,  followed.  Soon 
the  two,  running  thus,  were 
merged  and  lost  in  a  great 
crowd  of  people,  who  stood 
looking  up  at  a  wreath  of  bril- 
liant flames  that  darted  from 
the  roof  and  walls  of  a  small 
shop  and  dwelling  in  one — the 
house  of  a  general  grocer  and 
dealer  in  oil  and  household 
provisions.    Owing  to  the  in- 


(^ngef'e  ^ic^t^ncBB 


flammable  nature  of  the  goods 
kept  in  the  store,  the  fire  grew 
fast  and  furious ;  and  though 
the  engines  arrived  promptly,  it 
was  evident  that  very  little 
could  be  done  to  save  the  prop- 
erty from  total  destruction. 
The  owner  of  the  place  threw 
himself  from  one  of  the  win- 
dows, and  by  what  seemed  a 
miracle,  escaped  without  in- 
jury; but  when  his  wife,  nearly 
suffocated  with  smoke,  was 
carried  out  of  the  burning 
building,  she  struggled  fran- 
tically to  rush  back  into  the 
heart  of  the  flames. 
''My  children!  my  baby!" 


(^ngef  6  ^ic^t!)ntBB 


she  screamed  and  wailed. 
"Save  them!  Oh!  save  them! 
Let  me  go  ! — let  me  die  with 
them!" 

''Steady,  mother ! "  said  one 
of  the  pitying  firemen,  hold- 
ing her  arm  in  a  tight  grip. 
"  'Tain't  no  use  frettin'.  Leave 
the  little  uns  to  God!" 

Yes,  truly  to  God,  and — His 
"Angel"!  For  suddenly  the 
crowd  parted ;  a  little  girl, 
white-faced  and  dark-eyed, 
with  golden-brown  hair  stream- 
ing behind  her  like  a  comet, 
rushed  through  and  made 
straight  for  the  burning  house. 
There  was  a  horrified  pause ; 


(^ngef'6  TTicftebnese 


then  Johnnie  Coleman's  shrill 
voice,  rendered  shriller  by 
terror,  cried  out — 

''  It's  Angel !  Angel  Middle- 
ton!" 

"Angel  Middleton!"  roared 
the  crowd,  not  knowing  the 
name,  but  catching  it  up  and 
echoing  it  forth  like  a  cheer  in 
responsive  excitement.  "  Hoo- 
ray for  Angel !  There's  a  brave 
gel  for  ye  !  See  ;  she's  got  the 
baby!" 

And,  sure  enough,  there  at 
one  of  the  burnt-out  windows, 
with  smoke  and  flame  eddying 
around  her,  stood  Angel,  hold- 
ing a  tiny  infant  in  her  arms. 


^ngef  6  Wc^e^nese 


the  while  she  looked  anxiously 
down  into  the  street  below  for 
some  further  means  of  rescue. 
Several  people  rushed  forward, 
holding  an  extended  sheet 
which  had  been  hastily  pro- 
cured, and,  fearing  lest  she 
should  be  stupefied  into  in- 
action by  the  smoke,  they 
shouted — 

''Throw  it,  Angel!  Never 
fear !    Throw  it  down  !  " 

Whereupon  Angel  threw  the 
child  ;  it  was  caught  in  safety, 
and  she,  the  rescuer,  vanished. 
Only  to  reappear  again,  how- 
ever, at  the  same  window 
with  two  more  small  children, 


(^rxQd'e  TJ?icfte^ne66 


of  about  two  and  four  years 
of  age,  at  sight  of  which  such 
a  thunder  of  acclamation  went 
up  as  might  have  been  heard 
at  the  furthest  holes  and  cor- 
ners of  degraded  Whitechapel. 
She  meanwhile,  leaning  far  out 
over  the  charred  and  smoking 
window -frame,  demanded  in 
clear,  ringing  tones — 

''Are  there  any  more  chil- 
dren?   Are  these  all?" 

"Yes,  yes!"  shrieked  the 
frantic  mother,  running  for- 
ward with  her  just-restored 
baby  clasped  to  her  breast — 
'*A11 !  You've  saved  them  all ! 
God  love  you,  dear!" 


(i^nqd'e  'WicSe^nees 


Once  more  the  protecting 
sheet  was  outspread,  and  with- 
out any  haste  or  alarm  for  her 
own  safety,  Angel  let  one  child 
after  the  other  drop  straightly 
and  steadily  from  her  hold  ; 
they  were  caught  and  saved, 
uninjured.  Then  all  interest 
became  centred  on  the  girl- 
heroine  herself;  and  as  the 
wall  on  which  she  had  her 
footing  began  to  lean  and  tot- 
ter, a  great  cry  went  up  from 
the  crowd. 

"Qiiick,  quick.  Angel! 
Jump!" 

A  smile  crossed  her  pale  face 
for  a  moment ;  she  looked  to 


(^ngef'6  *Wic^ti>ntB6 


right  and  left,  and  was  just 
about  to  leap  from  her  perilous 
position  when,  with  a  sicken- 
ing crash,  the  brickwork  be- 
neath her  gave  way  and  crum- 
bled to  ruins,  while  up  roared 
a  new  and  fierce  pyramid  of 
fire.  Quickly  and  courage- 
ously all  hands  went  to  the 
rescue  of  the  rescuer,  and  in 
a  few  minutes,  which  to  the 
pitying  onlookers  seemed  long 
hours,  they  dragged  her  forth, 
cruelly  burnt  but  not  disfig- 
ured— crushed  and  dying  but 
not  dead.  Lifting  her  tenderly, 
they  carried  her  out  of  the 
reach  of  the  smoke  and  laid  her 


^ngef  0  nTic^e^nese 


down— one  gentle-hearted  fire- 
man supporting  her  little  gold- 
en head  against  his  arm,  while 
the  mother,  whose  children 
she  had  saved,  fell  on  her  knees 
beside  her,  weeping  and  bless- 
ing her,  and  kissing  her  poor 
charred  hands.  She  was  quite 
conscious,  and  very  peaceful. 

"Don't  ye  mind,"  she  said 
placidly;  ''father's  gone,  an' 
'twould  ha'  bin  no  use  for  me 
to  stay.  Why,  Johnnie,  are 
you  there?"  And  her  wan- 
dering eyes  rested  smilingly  on 
a  small  doubled-up  object  close 
by,  that  looked  more  like  a 
bundle  of  rags  than  a  boy. 


^rxQcVs  OD?tcftebne60 


'"Iss,"  sobbed  Johnnie. 
"  Oh,  Angel !  I've  bin  waitin' 
for  ye  all  the  arternoon.  I 
wouldn't  stop  in  class  arter 
they  wouldn't  'ave  ye  no  more 
— an'  I  wanted  to  see  ye  an' 
tell  ye  as  'ow  it  wouldn't 
make  no  change  in  me,  an' 
now — now — " 

Tears  prevented  the  faithful 
Johnnie's  further  utterance ; 
and  Angel,  with  an  effort,  made 
a  sign  that  she  wished  him  to 
come  nearer.  He  came,  and 
she  put  up  her  lips  to  his. 

''Kiss  me,  Johnnie,"  she 
whispered.  He  obeyed,  the 
great  drops  rolling  fast  down 


^xxqcVb  TTic^e^neee 


his  grimy  cheeks,  while  the 
crowd,  reverently  conscious  of 
the  solemn  approach  of  death, 
circled  round  these  two  young 
things  and  watched  their  part- 
ing with  more  passionate 
though  unspoken  sympathy 
than  could  ever  have  been  ex- 
pressed by  the  noblest  poet  in 
the  noblest  poem. 

"I  was  wicked,"  said  Angel 
softly,  then.  "You  must  tell 
them  all,  Johnnie — at  class — 
that  1  was  wicked,  and — that  1 
am— sorry  1  said  1  hated  God  ; 
1  didn't  understand.  It's  all  for 
the  best — father's  gone,  an' 
I'm  goin'. — an'   I'm    so   glad. 


^ngef'fi  T3?tcSe^ne66 


Johnnie, — so  happy  !  Bury  me 
with  father,  please ;— an'  tell 
everybody — everybody — that 
I  love  God — now.'' 

There  was  a  silence.  The 
fireman  supporting  the  girl's 
head  suddenly  raised  his  hand 
with  suggestive  gravity,  and 
those  who  wore  hats  in  the 
crowd  reverently  lifted  them. 
The  smothered  sobbing  of 
tender-hearted  women  alone 
broke  the  stillness  ;  the  stars 
seemed  to  tremble  in  the  sky 
as  the  Greater  Angel  de- 
scended, and  bore  away  the 
lesser  one  on  wings  of  light  to 
Heaven. 


(^ngef  0  ^k^t^nces 


And  the  East  End  turned  out 
from  every  grimy  hole  and 
squalid  corner  all  its  halt  and 
blind,  and  maimed  and  miser- 
able, and  bad  and  good,  to 
attend  Angel's  funeral.  The 
East  End  has  a  rough  heart  of 
its  own,  and  that  heart  had 
been  touched  by  an  AngeFs 
courage,  and  now  ached  for 
an  Angel  gone.  She  and  her 
father  were  buried  together  in 
the  same  grave  on  Christmas 
Eve  ;  and  the  Reverend  Josiah 
Snawley,  realizing  perhaps  for 
the  first  time  the  meaning  of 
the  words — Let  your  light  so 
shine  before  men,  that  they  may 


(^ngef  6  TJ?ic^e^ne66 


see  your  good  works  and  glorify 
your  Father  which  is  in  Heaven, 
read  the  Burial  Service  with 
more  emotion  than  was  usual 
with  him.  Poor  Johnnie  Cole- 
man, wearing  a  bit  of  crape 
on  his  cap,  and  carrying  three 
penny  bunches  of  violets,  to 
throw  upon  his  little  sweet- 
heart's coffin,  was  the  most 
sincerely  doleful  of  all  chief 
mourners  ;  desperately  rubbing 
and  doubling  his  dirty  fists 
into  his  eyes,  he  sobbed  in- 
cessantly and  refused  to  be 
comforted. 

''Worn't  she  my  gal?"  he 
blubbered     indignantly    to    a 


^uqcVe  *TOk^e^neBB 


would-be  consoler.  * '  An'  ain't 
1  to  be  sorry  at  losin'  'er  ?  1 
tell  ye  there  ain't  no  one  left 
alive  as  good  as  she  wos  ! " 

Even  Miss  Powser  forgot  for 
the  nonce  that  she  was  a  lonely 
spinster  whom  nobody,  not 
even  Mr.  Snawley,  seemed 
disposed  to  marry  ;  and,  only 
remembering  simple  woman- 
liness, shed  tears  unaffectedly, 
and  spent  quite  a  little  fortune 
in  flowers  to  strew  over  the 
mortal  remains  of  the  ''mere 
insolent  heathen" — the  rebel- 
lious child  who  had  said  she 
"hated  God."  For  in  this  one 
thing  was  the  sum  and  sub- 


(^ngef  0  ^k^c^mBB 


stance  of  Angel's  wickedness  : 
she  hated  what  seemed  to  her 
poor  unenlightened  mind  the 
wanton  cruelty  of  the  inexor- 
able Fate  that  forced  her  father 
to  starve  and  die  !  Forgive 
her! — pity  her,  good  Christians 
all !  You  who,  comfortably 
fed  and  clothed,  go  to  church 
on  Christmas  Day  and  try  to 
shut  out  every  suggestion  of 
misery  from  your  thought,  for- 
give her  as  God  forgives — God, 
who  knows  how  often  His 
goodness  is  mistaken  and  mis- 
represented by  the  human  pro- 
fessed exponents  of  Divine 
Law  ;  and  how  He  is  far  more 


(j^nqd'B  Wc^ebne06 


frequently  portrayed  to  His 
most  suffering,  ignorant,  and 
helpless  "  little  ones  "  as  a  God 
of  Vengeance  rather  than  what 
He  is— a  God  of  Love  ! 


DATE  DUE 


GAYLORD 

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